


my love’s after the water; as i’m swimming back to land

by dirtywings



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, they spend the day at the beach and the night too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtywings/pseuds/dirtywings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A day. At the beach?” He puts his coffee mug on the kitchen table a little too harshly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my love’s after the water; as i’m swimming back to land

“A day. At the beach?” He puts his coffee mug on the kitchen table a little too harshly.

“Yes, Mickey. And the night too. You’re gonna love it.” Ian doesn’t even mind the tone of Mickey’s voice, just continues to eat his pancakes.

“Me? Sand stuck on my feet and a bunch of kids screaming around all day?”

“Exactly. Trust me on this, it’s gonna be great.” Mickey thinks about the sun burning his shoulders, thinks about too-cold water splashing all around, kids throwing footballs back and forth until one hits his head. He doesn’t like the thought. Asks himself why they couldn’t just stay home for another day, watching movies and passing out on their couch. But then he looks at Ian’s smile, knows what it means, knows how much it means that Mickey would do this with him. Thinks about Ian on the beach, all wet chest and ruffled hair, sand-filled shorts and sun kissed cheeks.

“Fuck…” Why did Mickey ever think he had a chance. “Alright. If I get home looking like a fried chicken it’s on you, though.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not even gonna be there before 3. And I can put sunscreen on your back, douchebag. Don’t blame me because you can’t handle 15 minutes of sun.”

“You say it like half of you isn’t all red already.”

 

Two days later, Mickey wakes up alone. His face is buried on his pillow and his hands don’t have to wander around to know that there’s no body sleeping next to his. He knows exactly what Ian’s absence feels like. He inhales deeply and slowly opens his eyes, looks around their room and there’s no sign of Ian. He finds him easily, though, moving around quickly, grabbing towels and shirts with a piece of french toast hanging from his mouth, half of his face plastered with sunscreen. Ian sees Mickey from the corner of his eye, arms crossed, standing by their bedroom door. They both smile at the same time. Mickey eats his breakfast watching Ian talk excitedly about where they’re going and showing him the tent he bought. After he finishes, Mickey helps him with the sunscreen that’s still on his forehead and cheeks, puts sunscreen on his back and goes to take a fast shower while Ian stocks up their car.

Mickey is about to put his shirt on when he’s stopped by his boyfriend. “What are you doing? I promised I’d put sunscreen on you pale-ass!”

“What? We can’t do it when we get there?”

“Just sit on the bed and let me do this, ok? It won’t take long.” Mickey’s complaints are quickly forgotten. Ian sits behind him and Mickey almost tells him to shut up when he starts talking about the benefits of applying sunscreen before sun exposure (or something like that), but his hands feel so nice and his fingers are so careful and the pecks he drops on his cheeks feel so right that he doesn’t mind. But then Ian starts to apply sunscreen on Mickey’s forehead and he stops him right away.

“I can put sunscreen on my own face, thank you very much.” He takes the bottle from Ian’s hands and flips him off when Ian laughs a bit too much about just how much more pale he gets after putting sunscreen on his cheeks.

They watch ‘The Professional’ and eat left-overs for lunch before gathering the rest of their stuff and leaving the apartment. The car ride is long. They argue about the song choices, Ian’s inability to drive without looking at Mickey every few minutes and Mickey’s inability to stop asking how much longer it’s going to take to get there. Ian sings along to the worst songs and Mickey doesn’t miss his chance to take pictures and videos. Ian kisses him at every red light.

 

They arrive at the beach at 3, just like Ian wanted them to. The sun is still high at the sky, clouds faintly staining the blue with brushes of white. Mickey grabs the tent and one small crate of beers, Ian tells him to find a place for them while he turns off the car and grabs towels and sunscreen. There aren’t nearly as many people Mickey was expecting to find, and he’s pleased to see a very nice spot free of kids running around.

Mickey opens the tent easily and plans to brag about it for two weeks. Ian meets him soon after and in a second they’re off, running around towards the water. They get a few confused looks from parents who can’t understand why two adult men would be play-fighting and throwing sand at each other.

 

“Please remind me to never race you like that ever again.” Mickey’s almost passed out on the sand while Ian walks around as if they hadn’t just run and swum for 30 minutes straight.

Ian opens his towel, sits next to Mickey and drops a kiss on his forehead. “C’mon, Mick. That was nothing!”

“It’s easy for you to say, you run 5 miles every fucking day.”

“Stop complaining, asshole. Dry yourself so I can put sunscreen on your back again, c’mon.”

“Alright, alright.” Mickey sits up and dries himself off. “Let me help you this time, ok.”

Ian dries off his arms and chest while Mickey helps him with his back. He sits behind him, tries to be as gentle as Ian was in the morning, takes his time counting his freckles and thinking about all the times he has bitten and kissed each one of them. He mocks him for his shoulders being sunburnt already but quickly shuts up when Ian slaps his thigh lightly and he feels his skin is on fire. He drops a peck between his shoulder blades to let him know that he’s finished and Ian turns around to face him, smiling wide, eyes closed, telling Mickey to apply sunscreen on his face too. Which he happily does, and then let’s Ian do the same to him to make up for not letting him do it in the morning. Ian waits until Mickey’s eyes are closed to grab his phone. He takes a picture of him with sunscreen all over his face as a payback for the videos Mickey took during the car trip. Mickey hears the shutter sound, opens his eyes and his face goes from confused to angry in two seconds.

“You fucking…” Ian is quick to run to the water but Mickey follows him close behind.

 

Most people are gone by the end of the day, just a few other surfers catching the last waves before going home. Ian and Mickey are watching the sunset, feeling the weight of the afternoon on their shoulders, with heavy eyelids and a salty taste on their lips. Ian notices there’s a song playing in the distance, coming from one of the few bars that are still open. He steals glances at Mickey, who’s lying down next to him on the towels they laid on the sand. He listens to the song and ponders for a while; the question leaves him naturally, before he even thinks about what it means.

“Do you think it’s true? What he says?” Ian looks at him and kicks the sand on his feet, watches the waves crash in motion to the song.

“What are you talking about?” Mickey looks back at him and he’s happy, he’s confused by the question and tired by all they’ve done during the day. There’s sand inside his swim trunks and his cheeks burn from lack of sunscreen, but he’s happy.

“Elvis, Mickey… When he says that thing about only fools rushing in…” Only then Mickey pays attention to what’s playing. He ponders for a while, tries to remember the lyrics to that song, and then smiles to himself. He looks at the way the sun is painting the sea, looks at how the sky is stained with red. Thinks about how such a simple color could mean so much to him.

“You think I’m a fool?” He turns to face him and takes pride to the fact that nowadays he manages to look at him without catching his breath all the time. It’s still hard, though, especially when Ian is sunkissed and his hair is lying all over the place.

“What does this have to do anything?” Ian looks back at him.

“Well, you see… I “rushed in” pretty fucking quick, y’know.” He sits up and hugs his knees, closes his eyes for a moment before looking back at Ian, who’s still lying down right next to him.

“I don’t think you’re a fool, Mick.” He gets up and sits next to him, moves one arm across his back to hold him, drops kisses on Mickey’s left shoulder and doesn’t take his eyes off of his for one moment.

Mickey bites his bottom lip and scratches his head.

“There’s your answer, then. Happy?”

“Very, very much.”

Ian gives him a quick peck on the lips, gets up and starts running towards the sea. Mickey looks at him, bathed in sunlight, overshadowing the sun. Almost as if Ian doesn’t need it, almost as if he has his own light.

He gets up too and starts running after him, kicking the sand and the water. “One thing I gotta say though, some things are really meant to be.”, and with that he grabs Ian by the loop of his shorts and holds him in, takes his mouth like he learned how to take every single part of him.

They kiss until Mickey notices the day is almost gone, the sky has been drowned in blue and the last strokes of red are slowly disappearing. Almost breathless, he reminds him that they still have to make a fire, otherwise they’ll be cold and in the middle of the dark in a few minutes.

 

After searching for rocks and wood sticks for a while, making bets to who could carry more sticks with only one arm then and racing each other, they settle down and Mickey starts to put everything in place while Ian goes back to the car to grab their sleeping bags, more drinks, and food. When he comes back Mickey is standing in front of a fire that almost reaches his height with open arms and a proud face.

“Look at this! I’m like the human torch from X-Men or some shit!”

Ian puts the beers right in between their towels and laughs at him. “Isn’t the human torch from the Fantastic Four, though?”

“Whatever. My point is, look at this beauty.” He smiles at his art work but quickly goes over to the bag where they kept their food to see what Ian brought for them.

He looks over at Ian and holds the bags in the air. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What?” Ian sits down and kicks a bit of sand over the fire to shrink it down just a little.

“You’re telling me you dragged me here. We’re having a picnic in the middle of the fuckin’ beach. And you didn’t bother to bring marshmallows?” He looks pissed and his stomach is really beginning to complain with emptiness.

“They’re right here;” Ian throws the bags at him. “I just didn’t put them in those bags because if you found them first you’d eat everything.”

“Ayyy, what th-“ Mickey tries to argue but Ian shuts him down quickly.

“Don’t even try to argue with me, don’t think I forgot that day when we played chubby bunny and you stuffed 30 fucking marshmallows down your throat all at once.”

“It’s not my fault I’m a professional.” With that he grins and takes the bag of marshmallows Ian had hidden from him.

Ian takes his beer and drinks a sip of it suggestively. “I should know, right?”

“Yeah, you should know motherfucker.” He kicks sand all over Ian’s legs and with that they run off again, leaving the bag of marshmallows on the towels and the fire crackling calmly.

Ian catches him quickly, turns him around and holds him close. “What are you gonna do now, huh, tough guy?” Mickey looks him up and down, licks his lips unconsciously. Before he does anything, though, his stomach complains again.

“We should probably get back before I die from starvation.“ With a sheepish grin plastered on his face he looks at him and pats his tummy.

“You. Are. Unbelievable. Let’s go back before I bury you here and make a sand castle on top of your damn head.”

“Jesus, calm down, I don’t control my hunger alright, and we can do this later.”

He holds Ian’s face with his right hand and carefully opens his mouth with his own lips, dropping his left hand slowly, tracing the patterns of Ian’s abs until he reaches the loops on his shorts and pulls them to bring their bodies closer together. Mickey drops small kisses all over his neck while they walk towards their place on the sand. Ian moves his hands to Mickey’s back, reaching his bum to squeeze it just a little. Mickey moves away from his mouth with a smile and for a second he plans to leave marks on Ian’s chest, but he sees a glimpse of the bag of marshmallows dropped on his towel and leaves Ian open mouthed and with flushed cheeks behind him.

 

“How did you find this place anyway? We’re the only ones up here.” Mickey looks around and doesn’t stop munching on his burnt marshmallows. They are way too hot and it hurts a bit to swallow but he doesn’t mind.

“It’s nice, right? Calm and all that… It gets kinda crowded during the day, though. ‘S why I wanted to leave the house later…” He finishes his bottle of beer and lies down with his head resting on Mickey’s legs. “Lip told me ‘bout it. Said that there are some parties around here during spring or something like that, but that it’s quiet during the rest of the year.”

“We’re not gonna be killed or anything though, right? I really don’t wanna die with sand up my asscheeks.” He takes a sip of his beer and looks down at Ian, whose freckles are shining bright across his face. He moves some of his hair out of his forehead and smiles at him.

“So that’s your concern? Unbelievable… But nah, it’s fine. Nothing’s gonna happen to us.”

“And if someone does try to mess with us I got my soldier right here, yeah?” He points at Ian, who scoffs at him. He raises his bottle and screams to the night sky: “Take that, motherfuckers! Gallagher here ‘bout to fuck you all up!”

“C’mere, you’re ridiculous.” With that Ian sits upright, places his left hand next to Mickey’s hips so that he can hold his face with his right one. He takes him slowly, sucking at his bottom lip, smiling at Mickey’s reactions and his eagerness to make this faster, rougher, but Ian wants to take his time. They don’t always have the time to be as gentle as Ian’s being now, so he’s more careful, more attentive to Mickey’s sounds and reactions, he takes his grunts and his short breaths as a reason to dig deeper but never go faster, keeps him in pace until he feels his ribcages can’t contain his lungs anymore. They change places, Mickey pushing Ian’s shoulder down and sitting on top of him, their hips pressed together, his hands traveling all the way along Ian’s chest. Mickey looks down at him and can’t help but smile at the sight, Ian all bright and red, bathed in dim light. They stay there for a while, lying on top of each other, kissing lazily, with stars on their eyes.

 

They get up again, wrapped up in blankets, and walk until they’re far enough from the fire that it’s light stops hiding the stars. They sit down closer to the water, still listening to the crackling behind them. Ian looks at Mickey and lets the words come out as a whisper, almost as if he’s testing how real they sound once he finally puts them out there.

“There was this one time when I was little…” They’re both sitting side by side, their shoulders brushing against each other. Their eyes meet and it takes a while for Ian to find his words back. “Yeah, so… I was 11 years old, I think? Ice Age 2 went out that year so I guess I was 11.”

“I’ve never seen Ice Age. None of them.” Ian can’t believe what Mickey just said.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You download it for me when we get home.” Mickey smiles at him because this thing, this thing of having a home that’s just for them, having a place they share, is something they can say. It’s been a few years but the words still leave his mouth with the same sweet taste.

“You’re gonna love it! But yeah, I was 11. I think I was walking back from school when it happened?” He stops again. Inhales. Exhales. “I was just crossing the street, like 5 minutes from home, when I saw this guy get shot 30 feet away from me.” Ian tells him like it’s just another memory, like it isn’t something he spent months going through over and over again.

“Are you for real?” Mickey bumps his shoulder lightly and looks for exclamation marks in his eyes.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure it was the first time I saw anything like that. Definitely not the last, though.” They smile wryly at each other with the knowledge that no kid from their neighborhood can live their lives without seeing something like that at least once. It’s almost like it haunts them, like it’s on their blood, this predisposition to witness tragedy.

“I just remember shaking and seeing red all over the entire fucking street. The guy was soaked in blood. I didn’t even see who shot him.”

“What would you do, man? You were 11.” Mickey’s chest tightens with the thought of Ian being scared and helpless.

“Yeah, I don’t know… I don’t… Anyway. I remember getting home and trying to talk to Fiona? But Debbie and Carl were fighting over some stupid game and the dinner was burning and Frank was trying to steal the squirrel fund so I just… You know… Went to my room and stayed there. Lip even asked me how my day was when he got home and I was like “yeah, it was cool”.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything; just keeps watching his feet make patterns on the sand.

“Then I got a bit paranoid and shaved my hair off because of the red.”

“What? You’re joking.” Mickey looks at him and tries to imagine his head without a single strand of red hair attached to it. He can’t.

“I’m serious. It was stupid but I guess it kept reminding me of the blood on the guy’s face or whatever so I ended up having a buzzcut for 2 months. Kids do stupid things.” There’s a single moment of touchable silence. Ian laughs. “I looked rad as fuck, though, I can tell you that.”

“I’m pretty sure you looked like an alien.”

“Shut up, I know you love my alien look.” Mickey looks at him and smiles, doesn’t tell him that he loves every single part of him, just hopes that after all these years Ian has learned how to read in his face the words he can’t say with his lips.

“Y’know, I used to hate red when I was a kid, too. Hated it. Always brought shit no one ever wanted around, always messing up everything, always making Mandy cry. All the bad stuff in the world used to come all soaked in red.”

“I think I know what you mean.” Ian looks down and it takes a while for him to notice Mickey’s hand slowly moving towards his.

“I like it now, though.” He kisses the palm of Ian’s hand.

 

They spread out their blankets and Mickey lies down while Ian goes near the fire to grab some beers. Mickey looks at the sky, all those bright, distant dots. His mind wanders to memories of his mother talking about souls going to heaven and their marks being left on blankets of the night sky but he shuts it down quickly, doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to fill himself with it. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a bright line shoots across the sky and Mickey jumps at the sight.

“Wow, did you see that?” Mickey points at a part of the sky and looks at Ian expectantly.

“What?” Ian gives one of the bottles he took with him to Mickey and opens another, looks at where he’s pointing for a while but only sees a splash of bright dots covering everything. Nothing new.

“A fucking shooting star, man!” Mickey sips at his beer and pats the space left on the blanket for Ian to lie down next to him. He keeps looking at the two seas of blue in front of him and Ian can only see the blue on Mickey’s eyes.

“So we ended up looking for shooting stars, after all.” Ian laughs at himself for remembering such an old conversation, for still knowing exactly what happened that day, for remembering exactly how Mickey made him feel during that night. He doesn’t think, for one second, that Mickey knows what he’s talking about, that he remembers such a distant time. But Mickey smiles at him, places the bottle on the sand and kisses his lips as quickly as the first time he had ever done it.

“Shut up, will ya? Just enjoy the view.” He rests his arms behind his neck, for a moment wishing that he actually knew what he’s looking at, that he actually knew names and places and what lies hidden behind that curtain of stars. But that thought is cut out from his mind when he realizes Ian keeps looking at him.

“Yeah, ok.” Ian says, turning to his side to look at Mickey, and he doesn’t stop smiling. He reduces the space between them slowly, moving one of his hands up and down Mickey’s chest, bringing his face closer to Mickey’s.

“Gallagher, what are you doing.” He looks back at him suspiciously but pleased at the same time.

“I’m enjoying the view, Mick. Isn’t that what you told me to do?” He looks at his eyes one last time before finding his neck.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Ian’s breath is hot against his skin. The sun is nothing compared to him.

“It’s not my fault if you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Ian looks at his eyes again, hoping that he looks back, trying to make Mickey see just how much he means it.

Mickey doesn’t look at him, though.

“No. Not funny at all, shut up.” He bites his bottom lip and wishes he wouldn’t tear up because of this.

“Ok, ok… I will.” Ian moves away just a bit, Mickey’s face becomes focused again, lighted by fire and moon light. And he can’t help himself. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you really, really are.”

“Alright, I’m gonna shut you up myself.” Mickey looks at him then, smiles before reaching for Ian’s face, digging his hands on his hair, pulling him close and wishing there was a way to never let him go. If a tear escapes from his eyes he doesn’t notice. Neither does Ian, too enwrapped by Mickey in all that he is to see anything else.

 

They spend what seems like hours looking at the starry night. They talk about the universe, how Mickey is sure there are aliens but something inside Ian says that he could never be 100% certain. They talk about dreams and fears, Ian always more than Mickey. Ian shows him Scorpius, wide and beautiful on the sky, talks about the myths he vaguely remembers from Greek mythology books he read when he was 13. Mickey makes jokes about how the bright star in the middle of it looks just like him. (Antares, a giant red star, the heart of the constellation). Ian tells him about this bright blue star, Sirius, found in Canis Majoris. Compares him to it with a smile on his face. He whispers that Sirius is actually the brightest star of the night sky. (And the brightest star of his own sky, too). Thinks about how Sirius doesn’t even compare to Mickey’s eyes.

Mickey finally lets the memories of his mom wash over him and Ian listens to every single word, knows how hard it is for him to let these buried parts of his childhood come to light. He speaks quietly (never softly) about her and how she used to love the stars, how she counted them at night and taught him to run after the moon. Ian plants kisses on his shoulders and neck and cheeks, marking every single one of Mickey’s words, almost as if trying to make his love clean the bruises, close the opened scars.

They count over 10 shooting stars and Ian closes his eyes after every single one, only half joking about each of his wishes. Mickey doesn’t wish for anything. He looks around, looks at Ian with his fluttering eyelashes and his chest rising and falling rhythmically and feels, knows with more certainty than he ever had, that there’s nothing else he could wish for. All he needs is laid down right next to him, shoulder to shoulder, watching the night sky. He thinks about an ‘I love you’ but figures it wouldn’t even come close to what’s inside of him, so he holds Ian’s hand and places it on his own chest, right on top of his heart, and hopes it’s enough.

 

By the time Antares starts saying goodbye, Ian is snuggled up on Mickey’s side, scratching his chest and hugging him tight to try and find some warmth. They both start shaking after a while, and only then Ian breaks the silence that not once got close to uncomfortable.

“We should probably go back. You’re so cold you’re shaking.” He turns to his side and lightly kisses Mickey right below his eyes.

“You say it like your teeth aren’t about to break from chattering so much.” Mickey yawns and starts getting up, pulling Ian with him.

 

“Are there any marshmallows yet?” Mickey hears his stomach growl and Ian must have heard it too, because the noise was anything but low.

“I have no idea, but you probably ate them all.” Mickey pushes him playfully but still hopes Ian is wrong. He’s hungry again.

“How do I put up with you? Jesus.” He sits as close as he can to the fire and leaves a space for Ian to join him, gives him one beer and proceeds to roast the marshmallows they have left. Ian grabs some sandwiches, hands one to him and it’s not at all surprised when Mickey chooses the sweet over the salty. He ends up eating both of them, though. After he finishes his beer, Ian raises his right arm and wraps it around Mickey, brings them closer together. Mickey leans into the touch, sinks in quickly, lets the new warmth fill him up and rests his head on the crook of Ian’s neck.

 

It doesn’t take long for their eyes to start spending more time closed than opened. Ian rubs his eyes and gulps one last sip of his beer. Mickey is fast asleep next to him, completely curled up on his side, his breath warming Ian’s collarbones. He pokes Mickey’s ribs lightly, whispers on his ear that they should go to their tent. Mickey agrees without even opening his eyes, too tired to do that. He kisses his cheek and lets Ian guide him, who then puts out the fire and follows Mickey right after.

They sleep holding each other, heart to heart, chest to chest, the last stars of the night sky as their witnesses.


End file.
